


the absence of all

by orangesofduscae



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Assumed Character Death, Canon-Compliant, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesofduscae/pseuds/orangesofduscae
Summary: The Kerberos mission fails, and Keith feels like he's suffocating in the darkness left in the wake of Shiro's extinguished light.





	the absence of all

**Author's Note:**

> **re-uploaded from my old ao3 account; previously titled _vacuum_**
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> [eri-damon](http://eri-damon.tumblr.com) on tumblr did some [fantastic art of adam and keith](http://eri-damon.tumblr.com/post/177143359312) and i was so overcome with emotion i had to write something for it
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>> this is meant to be understood as canonical past adam/shiro and implied one-sided keith/shiro with the intention being a budding crush on keith's end

The wind is arid and the sun beats down from overhead. Sweat beads at his temples, running down his neck to stain the collar of his shirt, and Keith's fingers twitch with the urge to pull at his sleeves, long and stiff and too hot. Silence permeates the open expanse of the desert, broken only by the faint call of birds in the distance.  
  
It feels—it feels like a mockery, the pleasant, beautiful day around them. It's in stark juxtaposition to the storm brewing inside him, and the way he feels washed out and grey as a hole opens in his chest, gaping wider and wider with every breath he struggles to take. The universe is playing a joke on him, and Keith  _hates_  it.  
  
The crinkle of paper cuts through the ringing in his ears as he clutches the bouquet in his hands tighter, and a warm hand settles firmly on his shoulder. Not of sympathy, but of temperance—and support. His knees are shaky, and he knows he'd collapse without it. He hates that, too.  
  
The entirety of the Garrison is in full funeral dress beneath the uncaring rays of the noontime sun. Iverson is making some kind of speech, but Keith's tuned him out. Words don't matter. Nothing matters, not anymore. Pilot error. Those words ring through his mind like a song he can't forget.  
  
There are coffins, three of them, draped with flowers and flags. They're empty. Empty like the space in his chest where his lungs should be. Bodies were never found—nobody looked. Nobody wanted to look hundreds and thousands and billions of miles away for three bodies when answer was perfectly clear:  _pilot error._  
  
The horizon blurs, blue fading into the sand of the desert, swirling together and washing out as tears fill his eyes.  _Pilot error pilot error pilot error pilot error—_    
  
Fingers dig into his shoulder, and Keith sucks in a breath, exhaling a shaky, quiet sob. He lets himself be pushed forward, his feet moving on autopilot as he steered toward the coffin on the far left. Beside him, at the other coffins, Colleen Holt and her daughter—Katie, he thinks distantly—hold onto one another, each one putting on a brave face even with tears streaming down their cheeks. Keith wonders how they manage it when it feels like his entire world has been torn away from him and he’s left drifting, aimless and alone.   
  
There are portraits beside the coffins, immortalizing the confident, smiling faces of those lost: Samuel and Matt Holt, and—  
  
“Go on, Keith,” Adam says, voice low. “I think it should be you.”   
  
The bouquet, he means. Keith grips it tighter, swallowing thickly. He tries to find the will to make his feet move, but he can’t make his brain tell them how to work. He stands there, eyes full of tears, just looking at the coffin. Black, sleek, elegant in its simplicity. He doesn’t know the name of the flowers curling delicately over the top.   
  
Adam finally gives him a gentle push, and it makes Keith’s feet move. With stilted movements, he approaches the coffin, and finally places the bouquet on top beside the other flowers. He manages to step back into place, and Adam’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder again, holding him up when all he wants to do is crumple to the ground under the weight of this loss.   
  
Iverson says more words, something about how the brave men who dared to seek the stars would be missed and remembered by all. Keith doesn’t listen. His ears ring with his pulse, and the sound of the wind, and his own breaths, and  _pilot error_.   
  
Keith doesn’t know how much time passes. It could be minutes, or hours, or days—time is unreal in the wake of losing Shiro, and the hole in his chest gapes wider, wider, until the ground slips out from under his feet and he’s being swallowed whole by the darkness, no light to be found.   
  
Shiro was his guiding light, and now he’s gone.   
  
The area has cleared of most everyone by the time Adam rests a hand on his arm, bringing him out of his head. Keith looks up at him, feels the skin of his cheeks pull with his dried tears.   
  
“We should get back,” Adam says, not unkindly. “It’ll be dark before too long.”   
  
“How do you do it?” Keith asks, voice raw, and Adam gives him a questioning look. “How can you stand there and pretend everything is okay? Shiro’s gone! They didn’t even look for him!”   
  
Adam’s expression shutters, and he takes a step back, squaring his shoulders. “I’m not doing this with you, Keith. Let’s go.”   
  
“Do you even care?” Keith feels red hot rage boiling under his skin, clawing to escape. It feels good to let it out, to lash out. “Do you even care that he’s gone? That no one is doing anything about it? Why aren’t we doing anything? Why aren’t we looking for him?”   
  
“Keith, enough,” Adam says, and there’s an edge to his voice. His fists clench at his sides. “You know why.”   
  
“ _Pilot error_ ,” Keith spits, and it rips straight through him to say it out loud. It makes it  _real_ , and god, but it can’t be.  _It can’t be_. “You don’t really believe that, do you? Shiro is better than that! He’s the best! He wouldn’t make an error! You know that!”   
  
The silence that follows rings louder than his shouts. Adam won’t look at him; his gaze is trained off to the side, his jaw clenched. A heavy, leaden weight appears in the pit inside him, and the realization hits Keith like a truck, sudden and harsh, leaving him reeling to find his balance again.   
  
“You believe it,” he says, so soft it’s almost a whisper. Adam finally looks back at him, expression unreadable, and the fight suddenly goes out of him. “You think it was pilot error.”   
  
“Keith—”   
  
“Shut up,” Keith says, then louder, “just shut up! How can you say that?  _You_  of all people!”   
  
“He was sick, Keith!” Adam shouts, his own emotion finally bursting to the surface. His glasses have slipped down his nose, and his eyes burn bright with tears. “I knew that better than anyone besides him! I lived it with him! I tried, okay? I tried to be there for him and support him as best I could, but he wouldn’t listen!”   
  
“You wanted him to give up his dreams!” Keith shouts back. Fury rolls through him, aching, nagging, and he wants to hit something. “You pushed him away!”   
  
“I wanted him to live!” Adam draws a ragged breath, and his tears finally slip. “I wanted him to be safe! And now he’s gone!”   
  
His words ring in the air, drawing all the fight out of both of them. Adam’s shoulders slump, and Keith feels his body sag forward.  _And now he’s gone_. Those words weigh as heavy as  _pilot error_  in his mind, playing on an endless loop.  _He’s gone he’s gone he’s gone—pilot error pilot error pilot error._    
  
“No,” Keith says, closing his eyes as the voice in his head chants those words like a mantra. Then louder, “No. I don’t believe that. There’s something—something else. Shiro wouldn’t—he wouldn’t make a mistake like that. He wouldn’t put the lives of others at risk. There’s something else. He’s still out there.”   
  
“Keith.” Adam sighs, sounding tired and defeated. “Please. Let it go. It’s only going to be a detriment to you in the long run.”   
  
Keith looks at him, feeling fire in his eyes. “Shiro isn’t a detriment.” He feels a sneer curl his face. “But I guess you’re too selfish to see that.”   
  
The words cut deep, he can tell, and he feels vindictively proud at how much pain he can cause the one other person who was supposed to be on Shiro’s side, no matter what.   
  
Adam doesn’t take the bait this time, just adjusts his glasses and looks at him before turning around and heading away. “Let’s go, Keith. We need to get back.”  
  
Keith watches him go but doesn’t move. He turns to the coffin again, eyes dragging up the lid, over the flowers. He settles on Shiro’s portrait, memorizing the soft smile lining Shiro’s lips and the way his eyes sparkle with the hunger for adventure and exploration among the stars, even in a picture. Keith wants to see that look again, up close and in person. Wants to be the one Shiro wants to share his adventure with, both of them sailing the universe together, hand in hand.   
  
Resolve settles in him next to the leaden weight, countering it. Keith looks hard at the portrait, and speaks like he’s talking directly to Shiro. Prays that, wherever he is, Shiro can hear him, and knows.

“I’ll find you, Shiro,” he promises. “I’m not giving up on you.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @firaga_master


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